The Victrola

It was all dark at first. I was placed gently on a hard surface, and still had a covering over me. Someone was whistling to themselves as they paced around. A strange, crackling noise came from somewhere in the room. Soon, the covering was removed. A kindly looking face greeted me. The eyes showed the smile that was hidden behind a large, handlebar moustache. His hand caressed me, and examined every part of me. He lifted a large, black horn from beside me, polished it lovingly, and then attached it to me. Soon, beautiful music seemed to come from within me. This time, I saw the smile clearly from beneath the moustache. It quickly turned into laughter. The man clapped his hands together, did a quick dance, then collapsed into his rocking chair in front of the fire place. I could still see the smile on his face. It brought me joy that I was the cause of his happiness. I wanted always to bring a smile to that kind face.

From that day on, the daily routine was usually the same. Each afternoon the master would come home from his work, and toss his hat and coat carelessly over the back of the chair across the room. The first thing he would do is have me play music again. Sometimes the music was lively, sometimes sweet and soothing. He would put a meager amount of food going in a pot over the fire, then rest his head back against the rocking chair with his eyes closed. There were some days when the routine varied. For instance, one day he came home, still throwing his coat and hat carelessly aside, put the fire and his food going, then went straight to his desk and began working over some papers. The smile wouldn’t be there, though, and I would wish that I could make myself produce the music so that I could see the smile on his face again. Just as I was beginning to feel completely hopeless and forgotten, he folded away his papers, and stretched his weary looking frame. His glance fell on me, and as soon as it did, that smile I so longed to see came to his face. Pretty soon, I was playing music again, and everything was as it used to be. This happened from time to time, but from that day on, I never lost hope that eventually he would put the work away and give his attention to me.

A change soon came, though, that I did not like at all. My master would come home and start his usual routine, including allowing me to play my music. However, my music and my time with my master most evenings were being cut short. Dressed quite handsomely, he would dance over toward me. The first evening he did this, I thought it was just a part of his merriment over my music. But then he shut my music off, put his coat and hat back on, and left the house. It would be very late at night, indeed, before he returned. Without giving me a passing thought, he would go straight to bed. I began to dread it whenever I would see him dressed so handsome. I knew it would mean he was leaving me again. It started out as just a couple of painful nights per week. As time moved on, it happened more often. When I thought things couldn’t get any worse, they did.

He brought her home. She was dressed head to toe in white. She was beautiful. I hated her. He came over to me, dressed more handsomely than ever. I began playing music again, and they began to dance around the room. They were both smiling and laughing. I had thought I was the only one who could make him smile. Now this woman was here and taking my place in his life. Oh, if only I could stop this music. How could something so happy come out of me if I feel so miserable. My feelings must have come out in the music, for there was a terrible screeching sound that brought my master’s attention to me. He came over with a look of concern on his face, stopped the music and examined me. Something was said about how I needed to be oiled. I wasn’t played anymore that night. 

I couldn’t wait for her to leave, but she never did. She was there - with him - day in and day out. Eventually, the master went back into a routine of leaving for work. Where, in the past, I would patiently and quietly wait for him to return each evening, now my music was being played during the day while that woman went through the house, rearranging things.  No! The Master’s rocking chair belongs by the fireplace where it always was. Not by the window. Don’t move the Master’s lamp from the desk. He needs it for when he has to work there. One day, the Master returned home, and was obviously unhappy with the new lamp that was on his desk in place of the old one. He voiced his displeasure with the piece. She answered back. The voices eventually rose. Something was said about her going to live with her mother. Next thing I knew, she was marching out the door with her packed bags. He was sitting in his rocking chair which was rightfully placed - by him - next to the fireplace. How happy I was! I wanted to play my joyous music again. But the Master only rocked back and forth in his rocker, puffing on his pipe and staring into the fire. How miserable he looked. If only he would let me play my music. He would smile and be happy again. After several, silent minutes, he wandered over to me. He heaved a big sigh. His eyes were wet and without the usual smile. That cruel woman! She has caused this misery. If only he would play my music. He would be happy and forget all about her. As though he had heard me, he reached over, and soon my music was playing again. But the smile never did return.

The next day, things were much the same. I played for him most of the day, but he did not smile. He went about the house in a bit of a stupor, alternating between sitting in his rocker and pacing the room. He looked worried and anxious. I felt so useless. After a few hours of repeating the same cycle over and over, he finally broke it by grabbing his hat and coat, turning off my music, and marching out the door. Hours passed, and I began to worry. Was he coming back? Of course he was! He would never leave me. He was so unhappy when he left, though. Could some sort of harm have come to him? Oh, how I had wished that I had legs so I could search for him. When my worries were about to consume me, the front door opened, and in walked my master…and that woman! Both had their arms around each other, and were smiling that same, silly, love-sick smile. I knew from that point on that I was never going to get rid of that woman!

A year passed, and the new routine was set. The master went to work each morning, and that woman stayed around the house cleaning and cooking – though she was now quite careful whenever she considered moving an item in the room to another location. She also occasionally invited other women over, and they would sit around with tea and cakes, talking so loudly that I’m sure they couldn’t hear the music that I was being forced to produce for their entertainment. Another change I noticed coming over that woman – she was growing more and more rotund around her middle. Probably eating the master out of house and home.

One day, around this time, the master came home with a silly grin on his face and small package hidden behind his back. That woman greeted him over her shoulder as she was stirring something in a pot. Still looking quite silly, but charming, he put his fist over his mouth and cleared his throat. That woman turned around with an amused smile, and went over to him with her hands on her hips. She inquired about what he was hiding. He suddenly acted like there was nothing there at all even though he didn’t seem to be going to any great lengths to be convincing. There was some toying around where she kept reaching for the package, and he kept holding it out of reach. This ridiculous spectacle went on for almost a full minute before he finally gave it to her. Something was said about an anniversary - whatever that is - and they kissed. She sat in the chair by the window and tore into the package. She pulled what looked like a string with a bunch of little, white balls attached. They held no real fascination for me, except that they were from the master. She seemed very pleased, though, for she nearly knocked him over with hugs and kisses. I was suddenly feeling a little upset with my master – not a feeling that I relish, but I couldn’t help it. I had been with him for such a long time – much longer than that woman – and I couldn’t remember him ever bringing me anything. I didn’t have much time to dwell on this thought, for now that woman was giving him something. It was a much larger package than the one he had given her. Was it the same thing he had given her, only much larger? He opened it, and pulled from a box a beautiful horn that was decorated in a blue and white flower pattern. The horn put the little black one of mine to shame. Then another thought much more horrible than the one I had had earlier hit me: Did she get him a bigger, grander machine to replace me? She said something to him about how much she knew he loved the little Victrola. He seemed almost as pleased with her gift as she was with his, though he was much gentler with her when he returned the thanks. He rushed over to me and took off my little black horn. Here it comes! I panicked, I’m being dismantled! I’m being replaced! Instead, he placed the beautifully large horn on me. They both stood back and were grinning ear-to-ear at me. Then I realized that I was the little Victrola that he so dearly loved. That woman - the missus - had bought something for him with me in mind. My master and missus danced around the room that evening to the sound of my music which sounded more beautiful than ever coming through my new horn.

Almost a week later, something very troubling happened. The missus became quite ill, and a doctor was sent for. My poor master paced the room, puffing on his pipe, while the doctor was in the other room with the missus. He looked quite worried, and my worries matched his. Once he stopped mid-stride, and glanced over at me. He walked over to me, stroked my new horn lovingly, then me, then set to pacing again. I had hoped that stroking me brought him some measure of comfort, but sincerely hoped that he would not put my music going. I was too worried to play anything cheerful. Again he stopped his pacing, grabbed up the oil and brushes he used to clean me, then set to work on me. He had just clean and oiled me a month ago, but I didn’t mind. The task kept us both occupied. Several hours passed. The light from the outside had disappeared, but returned again like it always did. There was still no sign of the doctor or the missus. I was cleaned and oiled, and my master was back to pacing. Suddenly there was a strange, screeching sound from the room where my missus was. The master stopped short in his pacing and turned toward the room. For almost a full minute he was like stone, then suddenly he ran up to the door. He looked like he was going to rush right in, but held himself in check. What it all meant, I didn’t know. All I knew is the doctor came out of the room almost a full hour later with a kindly smile, shook my master’s hand, and announced there was a boy. My master grinned that silly grin of his, and bounded into the room. I didn’t see him at all for most of the day. As for the missus, well, I didn’t see her for days. I was quite upset with the master. He didn’t seem to miss her at all. He walked around the house, contentedly whistling. Occasionally he would come out of the other room carrying a small bundle wrapped in a blanket. I couldn’t see what it was, but it made plenty of noise. Had this little bundle replaced the missus in my master’s mind? Then, one day, I was overjoyed to see the missus come out of the room. How ill she must have been, for she looked as though she had lost a great deal of weight. But she was smiling at both the master and the bundle that he was holding. So she hadn’t been replaced either! I was glad, for over the past few days I was deeply regretting how badly I thought of her in the past.

One day, the little bundle was making the most loud and awful screeching noise. Both the master and the missus traded the bundle off to each other. They would take turns walking with it, both patting and bouncing it in their arms. Finally, the master brought it over to me, and for the first time I saw what was wrapped up in the little blanket. At least, I saw it had a face and arms like my master and missus. Only this face was beat red, with eyes tightly shut and mouth wide open. I realized that this was the orifice where the awful sound was coming from. The master muttered strange sounds to the bundle while bouncing it in one arm and reaching over to put my music going. At first, my music was barely heard over the sounds coming from the bundle, but eventually the bundle quieted down and lay content in the master’s arms while my music played. The master chuckled, and said something to the missus about how the boy loved the Victrola just like him. From that moment on, I looked on the bundle as a smaller version of my master, and played just as happily for it as I did the master and the missus.

As time went on, the little bundle was no longer little. It grew, and was following the master and missus around the house. The missus’ illness returned three more times, but each time I grew less and less worried when it did. It was always the same. She would gain a large amount of weight over a period of time, but then become ill. A doctor would be sent for. The master would come out of the room with another small bundle. Then after a few days, the missus would also come out of the room, and life would return to normal – even though there was a new member to the family. All together there were three little masters and one little missus. How joyous our times together were. In the evening, my music would play, and master, the missus, and their smaller counterparts would dance around the room. I watched right along with the master and missus as the bundles grew. I was there joining in their merriment with each holiday celebration – including many more anniversaries. I brought a measure of cheer to each of them when there was unhappiness. I watched as one by one, the little masters and the little missus left the home. I brought comfort to my master and my missus when it was only the three of us left – like it used to be before each bundle came along. Only now as I thought back on the days when it was only the three of us did I realize how much my master and missus had changed. My master’s once dark hair was now pure white. My missus had gentle mixing of gray and brown in her hair. They neither danced nor bounced around the room as much as they used to, but whenever my music played their feet would tap out a beat on the wooden floor. I then realized that, just as the little bundles had grown, so had my master and missus grown old.

One afternoon, the missus left the house, and I was left alone with my master. I did love the missus now, but still enjoyed the alone time with my master – just like it was in the beginning. He put my music playing, and sat in the rocker by the fireplace. Seeming to be talking to no one in particular, he began reminiscing the old days. I knew he was talking to me. He spoke of how he felt when he first brought me home. How cleaning and oiling me helped him through the birth of each of his children. All the good times we shared as a family while the children were growing up. And now, with the missus out shopping, how it was just him and me again, like it had been in the old days. He smiled and lay his head back against the rocker and fell asleep. My music was still playing when the missus came home with her arms full of packages. She was talking about some good prices at the store and some local gossip as she put her packages away. She and I were so involved with her end conversation that neither of us noticed that the master wasn’t listening until she let up to give him a chance to get a word in. When he didn’t answer her – didn’t even seem to wake up – she shook her head and went over to him. After a few more words to him, which he didn’t respond to, she fell on her knees before him, buried her head in his lap, and wept. I didn’t understand what was wrong, nor did I understand why my master wouldn’t wake up and comfort the missus. I didn’t know this was the last that I would see of my master. His reminiscence of how much joy I brought him over the years would be the last words I hear from him.

Days passed, and I missed the master terribly. The missus, who now dressed only in black and was never without a handkerchief, entertained guest over the next several days since my master was taken from us. The little bundles, who now had bundles of their own, visited frequently. Each time they came back, more and more things were packed and taken away. I wondered if I would be next. But I wasn’t the next one destined to leave. One day, my missus had bags packed and waiting by the door. She walked around the house as though she were in another world. Her hands swept across the mantle of the fireplace, the old rocker, and even the lamp that had caused so much trouble when she had first come to live with us. I could see an occasional smile as she touched these items, but a tear would soon follow, and she’d dab her eyes with the handkerchief. She came over to me, and smiled – even laughed – as she caressed me in almost the same fashion the master used to. I had never been played, and hardly been noticed since the master left us. So when the missus noticed me again for the first time in days, I was sure I would be able to play music for her again. Instead, she began to weep and turned her back on me, and quickly walked away. The little missus showed up shortly after. They picked up the bags, and I never saw the missus or little missus or any other member of the family again.

The next thing that happened to me was not pleasant at all. Strange men came into the home, and started carrying furniture and any other item out of the house. One came over, and took my beautiful horn from me. Even though he was quite careful with it as he wrapped it in cloth, I ached, for it was all that I had to remember my master and missus with. What happened next was even worse. A covering was placed over me, and everything was dark. I felt myself being lifted – lifted from the very place I had sat every day since the master had brought me home. I was taken for a very long, bumpy ride. I felt myself being lifted once more, but I don’t know where I was taken. Only that once I was set down, I heard what sounded like a very large door being shut, and that was the last sound that I heard for a very long time.

In the darkness and silence, all I had was my memory of how things used to be. Like the master had done in those last moments that we had had together, I reminisced. I remembered the look on my master’s face when he first brought me home. I remembered the pride in his eyes whenever he took care to oil and clean me regularly. I remembered the missus, when she had first come, and how much I had hated her for stealing my master’s attention. Then she bought me the beautiful horn, and I realized I had been wrong about her all along. I remembered each new bundle that came along, watching them grow, and being a part of the family’s time. I remembered the holidays, the parties, the dancing, where in all events I was the center of entertainment and joy. Now I often wondered why the missus abandoned me. Why the bundles didn’t take me so that I could entertain them and their little bundles. Did the missus and the bundles ever think of me as much as I think of them. Do they remember me with fondness? Will they eventually come back for me? Every time I grew to despair at the loneliness, I would pretend I was with my family again. Sometimes my pretense would seem so real, I could almost swear my music was playing again, and I could hear my master’s laughter.

I don’t know how long I stayed silent in this dark place. I had given up hope long ago that I would ever be played again. Then, one day, I heard the large door open. I heard voices all around me. I was lifted up and carried away. Had my family come back for me? Would I play again for the missus and the bundles? After a long, though smoother ride than the last one, I was set down again. My covering was removed, and the cursed darkness was gone. But this wasn’t my master’s and missus’ home. The room was cluttered with so many items – some of the items I recognized from my old home, including the master’s rocking chair and that old lamp. It felt so good to see them again. I was starting to feel hopeful that by seeing them, I would also see the master or missus again. A strange man began looking me over, examining every one of my parts. The oil and brushes came back out, and I was put through a rigorous cleaning. Then he took out a large item wrapped in a cloth. As he started undoing the cloth, I saw my beautiful horn which he fastened to me. Soon, I was playing music again. My music! It had only been a memory to me for so long, that even the memory began to fade, and I had forgotten just how beautiful my music sounded. The man was apparently pleased with it as well. He smiled, patted my horn, and went to work fixing up the old rocker.

Strange people walked in and out of the room all day. Each of them examined the items in the room closely, and a few even stopped and admired me. I had wished the man would let me play my music for them. After being locked up in the darkness and silence for so long, I longed to have people hear my music. I longed to bring them joy. However, he did not let me play, though he smiled proudly at me whenever talking to someone about me. Many of the people who visited the room left with an item. Eventually I saw the old lamp disappear. I ached yet again when someone left with my master’s old rocker.

Then one day, a young man came into the room. He stopped when he saw me, and looked me over. There was something about him that reminded me of my master. Maybe it was the look in his eyes. It was the same look my master always had whenever he would look at me. The man walked away and looked at other items, but always came back to me, and examined me closer. The kind man, who had cleaned me up and in whose home I assumed I was staying, came over to him and they discussed me. The young man’s grandfather had grown up in a home with a Victrola, and apparently the Victrola had held many a good memories for the old man. The young man asked if I still played, and to my delight, the other man allowed me to play for him. The young man smiled. Before I could even finish a song, I was taken by him and left the room like so many other items had.

I was taken to this man’s home, and set on a table next to a chair and located in front of a window. Little bundles, which reminded me a great deal of my bundles, came running into the room followed by a young woman. Two of the bundles looked curiously at me, while the third and smallest of the bundles sat down in front of a large box with a window in it. Through this window, it looked as though there were people living and moving around inside the box. I could hear them talking, and hear music playing behind them, but could not understand why they chose to stay in that box. Before I had a chance to try to understand it, the young man closed the window on the box, and brought the little bundle to stand in front of me. The whole family was gathered around me, and the young man explained to them that I was a Victrola just like his grandfather used to have. He told them how I was the center of entertainment in the home a long time ago, just like the television is today. I wasn’t sure what a television was, but I was sure that I could bring much more joy to them than it could. As if he had heard my thoughts, he gave me a chance. My music began to play, and just as it used to happen with my family, the smiles spread on each of the faces. The bundles began to dance, and the man and woman laughed as they watched.

From that day on, while I had to compete with that box that I found out was the television, I still was able to entertain the family with my music as, daily, the bundles asked if they could hear my music again. While I still remember my old family with a great deal of fondness, I’ve come to accept these people as my new family. I will always miss my old master, and cherish my memory of him. At times when no one else is home, my new master will sit in the chair next to me, and play my music. Just like my old master would do, he lays his head back, smiles, and enjoys my music.